


Reasearching Life

by spikesgirl58



Series: Working Stiffs [47]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 16:59:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I work in Research and Development and my work is my life. I don’t have time for friendships with men or women. For me, there is nothing more satisfying than imagining something and then creating it, possibly even having to first create the material which I then use to engineer the end product. For me, that is what life is all about. If they’d have let me, I’d just sublet my apartment and live at head quarters. This is where my life is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reasearching Life

Okay, I admit it. I’m a nerd. For as long as I can remember, I loved taking things apart and putting them back together. I love to change them, make them better, and make them mine. When other kids were learning about the adventures of Dick and Jane, I was dreaming about some sort of device that would allow Spot to scale the trees and bring Puff down for good. It wasn’t that I wished any ill will upon the kitten; I just wanted to even the odds a little.

This is the way it was throughout my school days and when I graduated from college, my future was ripe with prospects. And then one day a man appeared on my doorstep with a very interesting proposition and the next thing you know. I have a lab, I have assistants and I am having more fun than you should be able to have with your clothes on. I’d become an employee of an organization known as UNCLE. It’s one of those international organizations that look after the innocents of the world. And they do that with my gadgets.

I work in Research and Development and my work is my life. I don’t have time for friendships with men or women. For me, there is nothing more satisfying than imagining something and then creating it, possibly even having to first create the material which I then use to engineer the end product. For me, that is what life is all about. If they’d have let me, I’d just sublet my apartment and live at head quarters. This is where my life is. Let my co-workers dally with time-wasting trivialities like friendships and lovers. I didn’t have the time or desire to waste on them.

Or rather I didn’t until there was an incident in the lab.

Thursday is always a hard day for me. The attention span of my assistants dwindles down to mere seconds as opposed to their usual minutes. They are lackluster, uninterested in doing much of anything, except planning for the weekend. Where they are going or what they will be doing seems to occupy their every thought. I yelled, I cajoled, I threatened, and finally, I just sent them home. I could get more done alone than with them there.

For a couple of months now, we’d been working on a new delivery system to integrate with our guns and deliver a more efficient mercy bullet. The chemistry was still dicey. The formula they were using was brutal. It would drop a man in his tracks almost instantly and keep him down for a good ten hours. Unfortunately, that was where the good part stopped and the problems started. Upon awakening, our test subjects had been really ill, to the point of having to be taken to Medical. The effects lasted for days and the Section One heads decided that was cruel and unusual, even for us – especially since we’re supposed to be the good guys. So, they started working on a new formula and gave me the rotten stuff to waste on test firings.

I was working with a modified Walther when the head of Section Two came in. Napoleon wasn’t a bad sort, a little unfocused at times, but he wasn’t an engineer or a scientist, so focus wasn’t really an issue for him, well, not my kind of focus.

“Afternoon, Ernie, you haven’t happened to have seen my partner, have you? He seems to have wandered off.”

Ah, so Napoleon had the same sort of problems with Thursday afternoons that I did, keeping his staff attentive to their duties. It wasn’t unusual to see Kuryakin poking around down here. A scientist and a fellow tinker, we’d talked on a number of occasions on how to improve this or that.

“Not so far today, sorry.”

Napoleon grinned, he was always grinning about something. It isn’t normal for a man to smile that much. He turned to leave and that’s when he spotted the proto type on my desk.

“What do you have there, Ernie?” He lifted the gun and examined it.

“We’re trying to modify something for the new mercy bullets. No luck so far. That one has a hair trigger. You sneeze and it discharges. We give that to your agents and they would be forever shooting themselves in the hip or wherever they carry it. God help them if they stuffed it into the waistband of their pants. Put it down carefully.”

He laughed and set it down a little too hard on the counter and the damned thing discharged as I predicted it would. I knew I should have taken the clip out in between practice rounds, but it was a hassle and it took precious minutes away from my work. And it was only luck, bad in this case, that Kuryakin just happened to be walking in the door at that very moment.

It took him a full twenty seconds to realize he’d been shot, about the same time it took Napoleon to realize he’d shot his partner in the stomach. Say whatever you want about the new formula, it worked like a charm. Kuryakin went down like a sack of wet sand before Napoleon could even react.

“Oh my God, Illya!” Solo was to him and slapping his face in a useless effort to wake him. “What did you do?” He pulled the Russian up onto his lap to peer into his eyes.

“Me? I wasn’t the one messing around with the proto type.”

“You violated standard protocol by leaving that weapon loaded and disabling the safety.”

“You just shot him with a mercy bullet, it’s not like he’s dead or anything.” I protested, making sure that the weapon was now unloaded and rendered useless. That was when I looked up and saw his face. And for the first time in my life, I was truly scared. What I saw in that man’s eyes was truly terrifying. I think he might have actually attacked me if the loud speaker hadn’t suddenly come to life.

“Will Agents Solo and Kuryakin report to Mr. Waverly’s office immediately?” Solo looked up at the ceiling and then back at me. “Stay with him until Medical gets here.” The authority in his voice left no room to protest.

And he was gone, just like that, talking into his communicator as he walked out. I looked down at the man who’d inadvertently caused the situation and shook my head.

“You are going to be hating life in a few hours, Kuryakin.” I sat down beside him and hauled him onto my lap just as I’d seen Napoleon do. Normally I don’t like touching people, but this was different. I was amazed at how much he weighed; he didn’t seem like he should be that heavy.

A couple of minutes later, a couple of orderlies arrived with a gurney. “What happened?” They hefted him up, struggling with his boneless state.

“Took one of the new mercy bullets. Solo accidently shot him.” I said, feeling vindicated at the admission. It wasn’t my fault. I watched them wheel him away and then returned to my work.

Still my mind kept wandering back to the memory, even as the hours passed and afternoon became night. I’d been at this for nearly twelve hours and it was time to take a break. I stopped at the cafeteria for a coffee and sandwich and watched as a couple of the Section Three boys stared at me. A handful of Section Twos saw me coming and got up and left the room. It could have been coincidence. It probably was coincidence, but a small nugget of guilt started eating at my conscience. I glanced at my watch and realized that Kuryakin was probably awake by now and ripping the place apart looking for the guy who shot him. That would not be me.

However, instead of heading back to my lab, I found myself down among the unfamiliar surroundings in Medical. I wasn’t sure where to go or what to do. Then I saw a nurse coming out of a room. She looked exhausted and concerned.

“Excuse me.”

“Yes?” She didn’t know me from Adam, that was obvious. We’d probably been coworkers for years and wouldn’t have known each other if we’d passed on the street. She didn’t pause in her step as she walked to a medical supply closet and started rummaging inside. I couldn’t help but think how pretty she was. Even as frazzled as she was, she had a sense of calm and control about her.

“I wondered if Kuryakin was awake yet.”

“Sadly, yes, he is.”

“Sadly? That sounds like a strange sentiment for a nurse to have. I would think you’d want your patients awake.”

“Not like this. He’s spent the last hour vomiting because the mercy bullet triggered a migraine headache. And the vomoting is making the headache worse, which makes him vomit more. Those bastards in Section Eight went too far this time. That new compound is beyond cruel and unusual.” She pulled out a bag of intravenous fluid and an IV setup. “Mostly he’s just angry, which isn’t helping the situation either.”

“Angry? It was an accident. Solo didn’t mean to shoot him.

“He’s not angry with Napoleon. He’s angry with himself.”

“What? Why?”

“You’re not Section Two, are you? And definitely not Section Three… you’re too young to be Section One… so you are…?”

“…one of the aforementioned Section Eight bastards. I was working on the delivery device for the mercy bullets. Solo started messing with it and it went off.”

“Hmm.” She looked at me for a moment, then took my hand and led me to a chair. “Illya is mostly angry with himself.”

“Why? That’s just crazy.”

“No, his partner is out in the field unprotected because Illya feels himself too weak to have been able to deal with his body’s reaction to the drug and it’s making him angry and frustrated, which makes his headache worse and makes him even less in control.” She patted my hand. “That’s part of what makes a good Section Two , that blinding need to protect your partner, that sense of commitment to someone other than yourself.”

“I don’t understand. You make them sound like they’re married or something”

“And that’s why you’re not a Section Two. They are much closer than the standard married couple.” She stood and smiled. “I need to get him started on IV fluids. Excuse me.”

I didn’t go back to the lab that night. I went home and crawled into bed. But sleep didn’t come. I just kept playing back our conversation again and again. By the time morning came, I was exhausted and feeling rotten. For the first time in my working life, I called in sick. But no one called back to see if I was okay or needed something or just wanted to talk. My assistants were probably laughing and joking and carrying on as normal. They sure weren’t missing me and I wallowed in my well of self pity for most of the day and night.

Saturday came and I couldn’t stay away from the lab any more. I knew it would be empty and I could work in peace, but somehow that wasn’t as appealing as it once was. And for a second time in three days, I found myself down in Medical.

The same pretty nurse was there, sitting at a desk this time and flipping through charts. I wasn’t even sure if she’d remember me, much less want to talk to me.

“Hi, remember me?”

She looked up and smiled. “Ah, yes the bastard from Section Eight.”

“Well, my mom calls me Ernie for short.” She smiled at that and I noticed how kind her eyes were.

“How’s Kuryakin or has he already been discharged?”

“He’s finally resting comfortably now. When he wakes up, we’ll discharge him.” A noise pulled her attention and in walked Solo. He was practically glowing and not in a good way. The man was sporting an incredible sunburn. “And what have I told you about a good sunscreen, Mr. Solo?”

“The next time THRUSH dumps me in the middle of the Kalahari, I’ll mention it to them.” He talked without moving any more of his face than necessary. Even so, his lips cracked with the effort.

“I think we need to get you started on something to take care of that sun burn.”

“My Angel of Mercy, how’s Illya?”

“In there.” She indicated a room with a nod of her head and he moved stiffly in that direction.

“You’d think he’d be more interested in getting some relief than anything else.”

Again, she smiled and took my elbow, leading me to the room. Solo was sitting by the bed, holding his partner’s hand and softly talking to the still-sleeping Kuryakin. “He’s already getting it. Within the next fifteen minutes, I wouldn’t be surprised to walk in and find them sleeping together.”

“What? That’s just sick and…perverted!”

“No, that’s being a Section Two. I can’t explain it any clearer than that.”

“Do all Section Twos do that?”

“No, just the really good ones.”

Then I did something I’d never done before. I acted on impulse. “Are you doing anything after your shift tonight?”

She smiled again and shook her head. “Nothing much, why?”

“I was thinking that maybe we could grab something to eat and you could explain a little more about this whole Section Two thing.”

I held my breath for what seemed like forever before she nodded. “Okay, Ernie, I’d like that. I’ll be off around five.”

“I’ll pick you up then.” I watched her walk away and realized I didn't even know her name. I headed back to Kuryakin’s room. Just as she predicted, Solo had stripped off his jacket, shoes and pants and was stretched out beside his partner, sound asleep. I just didn’t get it, needing someone like that, wanting to be so close to anyone else, but for the first time in my life, I wanted to. I wanted to very much.

 


End file.
